


Sleeves under Sleeves

by prettythoughts_deadlymind



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boss Castiel, Boss/Employee Relationship, Businessman Castiel, Businessman Dean, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sex, Tattoo Artist Benny, Tattoo Kink, Tattooed Dean, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettythoughts_deadlymind/pseuds/prettythoughts_deadlymind
Summary: Dean Smith might be the director of sales and marketing at Sandover Bridge but that hasnt impacted his love for tattoos. Tattoos he knows could cost him his job if seen by the wrong people, so when the new CFO Castiel sees them in the elevator one morning, Dean knows something is about to change... He just wishes it was him getting to taste those sinful lips. What Dean doesnt know is that Castiel more then willing to use his position of power over Dean to his advantage to get what he wants, even if that happens to be a certain green eyed co-worker.





	

Dean laughed as he walked out of the parlor, forearm wrapped in plastic wrap and a smile upon his lips. Although bloody, under the wrapping it was clear to see the fresh tattoo underneath, still red and slightly raised among all of the other long since healed pieces. Despite the tattoos, his blonde hair was carefully combed, his dark grey button up shirt was rolled up to his elbows. He was still dressed in his work clothes with his carefully pressed slacks and red suspenders that matched the tie hanging around his neck, albeit a bit loosely. 

"Thanks, man! It looks great." Shaking his head and offering a wave of his hand, the man stepped away, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Heaving a sigh as the cold wind stole away the scent of ink, soap, and disinfectant, the blonde allowed a smile to bloom across his lips. Dean was nearly always left in a good mood whenever he left the shop. Benny was a good artist and good company, making the pain fade away and time fly during each session no matter how long it took. It was always a little saddening to leave the shop even if his skin was newly christened with a new piece. When Dean was in that chair getting a tattoo, the rest of the world was put on hold for an hour or two, leaving him to simply enjoy himself and the moment, which for a man of his position was a rare treat indeed. 

 

Dean Smith had always had a deep love for art, especially art that touched on the occult and Biblical side of things, his work however, did not. Especially when that art took form on his skin. Most of the business world had decided without him a few years back that it was unprofessional for your director of sales and marketing to have tattoos, Dean thought it only gave you more reason to respect them. A man willing to commit to something forever was a man who had to be sure of his decisions. 

It had started forever ago, the businessman having gotten a small piece on his chest after reading up on possessions and other dark magic and arts. It had slowly spiraled out of control after that, Dean having never intended to commit both of his arms and his back to becoming art displays. His tattoos were the only thing his father approved of, having wanted his son to stay home and be apart of the family business building custom cars. Each time they had a rare family gathering, John would always gesture with roughened hands at his eldest son’s inked skin and comment on how it was just another sign that he was born to be in the shop and not in some god-forsaken office. 

 

Hidden under the long sleeves of his button down shirts hid sleeves of a different kind, each drastically different from the other. On his left arm, the ink swirled in dark black and grey lines, each one unwelcoming and harsh, a reference to different demonic concepts and wards against them. The other arm was no less harsh, but there was an unexpected grace about it, something which made it seem slightly more accepting seeing as how it was covered in biblical references, referring to angels and other monsters found in the bible. On his back, a pair of carefully inked wings were folded, so tenderly rendered that one could almost imagine they could see the feathers shift and move. He might have to hide them for work, but Dean Smith would rather die then regret them, they reminded him of the dangers of the world and how lucky he was to be where he was.

 

Smiling down at the angel banishing ward tattooed in a startling red on the biblical sleeve, Dean carefully tugged his white sleeve in place over top it, knowing he would have to wash it carefully when he got home. Approaching the black ‘67 impala where it sat patient and shining on the sidewalk, his green eyes danced and a hand rose to pat the black hood fondly, the car being the only good thing his father had ever given him. 

Upon arriving home, he took his time, shedding his work clothes and rolling his shoulders, having not had time to change before his appointment took place. He had a ritual now, work clothes hitting the floor just for him to toss them in a basket to be cleaned later, moving through the apartment in nothing more than a pair of boxers slung low upon his hips. The soft padding of feet upon the hardwood floor to the small bedside table where lotion sat, patient and waiting for him to plop onto the bed with a contented sigh and reach for it. 

This was his favorite part of the day, taking the time to carefully lotion each of his tattoos, relearning each sleeve and each piece that made it up, each symbol, each ward, each phrase or artistic rendition that made up each one. It was a long and loving process, followed by a little flexibility training so he could reach the art on his back, not wanting to neglect the wings that had been so lovingly and carefully rendered upon it. It was only when all of this was done that he would put the lotion aside, smelling wonderfully of something rich and minty before approaching the fridge to crack himself open a beer to really relax and enjoy his night.

 

Work in the morning, however, was another matter completely. There was a new routine all together. The day started each and every morning with the blare of classic rock from the small, greatly abused alarm clock upon the same bedside table where the lotion sat in waiting. Each day began with a shower, a shave, lotion tattoos, and the careful process of getting dressed. This morning, however, was graced with something familiar but new. Dean took his time, washing his tattoo before carefully applying some Aquaphor to it, this followed up by finally getting dressed, Smith looking at himself carefully in the mirror as he did every morning to make sure no tattoos showed. The last thing he needed was to lose his job over the very thing he loved. 

 

When he finally made it to work, he sighed softly as he stood in the elevator, straightening his cuff links to make sure no hint of inked skin peered out from underneath the black fabric in a teasing reveal. His forest green eyes were steady upon the task at hand when the elevator doors opened far too soon to be his floor, forcing him to look up and greet whoever had walked in. His eyes widened, and he could feel his pulse quicken in a way that was not normal. Dean Winchester was nothing if not a womanizer, his heart should not be fluttering in his chest like a small bird at the sight of this man but here it was.

The man standing beside him was a piece of art. Dark hair that looked like it had been held during sex framed a tanned face, from which stared the most beautiful eyes that Dean Smith had ever seen. There was no words which could paint an adequate picture of just how blue those eyes were, Dean could have sworn he saw dolphins playing in the waters of those ocean blue eyes . He had only seen the man a small handful of times and it had always been from a distance and Dean was shocked to discover that the man was far better looking up close, something he hadn’t thought was possible.

Looking up, dark brows rose in question as the man caught Dean’s gaze, head cocking to one side. This motion made his brows come together in a quizzical, wondering expression that was oddly endearing. “Smith, right? Dean Smith, Director of marketing and sales?” 

And as if that man could get anymore attractive, the voice with which he addressed Dean was something stolen right off a phone sex hotline, all dark whiskey and lace. It made the hair on the back of the blonde’s neck stand up and this thoughts take to the wind. So, for several heartbeats, he stood there stupidly not saying anything before he recovered himself. “Y-Yeah, that's me,” he offered forth his hand to shake, “you’ll have to forgive me, I'm not sure who you are?”

Those blue eyes danced as the wondering look on his face eased away, and he grasped Dean’s hand in a firm shake. “I'm Castiel Novak, I'm the CFO for the company,” he dropped his gaze to their clasped hands before looking up at Dean just in time for the elevator to reach his stop, “I do believe this is you.” 

Dean looked briskly over his shoulder only to confirm that it was indeed his stop. “Yeah, thanks--oh! And hey, it was a pleasure meeting you, Cas.” 

“Dean,” came the rich timber of the CFO’s voice, causing Dean to turn just outside the elevator, “I’d keep those tattoos covered if I was you. I’d hate to not have someone to talk to in the elevator.” And with that the doors closed to take him up to his floor.

**Author's Note:**

> The stage is set! Kinda! Im excited to finally get into this and really start smoothing out a plot! Im going to try and post a new chapter every two weeks! So stay tuned! This piece is was not beta-ed (?) So I apologize for any mistakes I tried to catch them all! Kudos and comments are always welcome!


End file.
